


Caeco

by TempusNoKitsune



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Armitage Hux Has Issues, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Backstory, Hux Backstory, Hux is Not Nice, Hux-centric, M/M, Space Husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-09-20 06:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9479492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempusNoKitsune/pseuds/TempusNoKitsune
Summary: He was 16 when his father recognized his achievements. To him, it was quite the momentous occasion. The man seemed far from family, more of a legend or a story passed down than an actual man. His voice was deep, smooth, undeniably strict, a sound that demanded and received attention. Nearing the end of the first 16 turns of his life, that booming voice filled a small metallic room.





	1. Called

Hux was 16 years old when his life began. 

The tight Arkanis Academy uniform clinging to porcelain skin as he strode confidently through crisp white hallways. His sharp ears echoed with the whispers hanging in the air around him.

“The Commandant’s son…” Brendol Hux, renowned. Commandant of Arkanis Academy. Feared and respected. 

“He’s so small…” “-sad, such a disappointment…”

Hux would laugh at these comments when he was alone. A harsh, bitter sound that would fill his utilitarian room as his hands twisted unforgivingly into soft burgundy sheets.

At first Hux had believed the words that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Growing up he had been one of the smallest students in the Academy, and was often teased for his fair complexion. For many years the others had referred to him as a female, laughing unabashedly as his father intentionally had his hair grow out, and his uniform tightened even further around his narrow waist . It was his way of discretely hardening Hux to the outside world. The smart bastard.

He had gotten his looks from his mother, a woman that he never knew. Sometimes his father would push a hand through fiery red hair, and tilt his head back to look into the blue eyes that mirrored his own before he sighed in disappointment, jerking Hux’s head down before leaving the room. Though, as he grew his intellectual prowess promised a bright future in the Imperial ranks, and his professors particular brand of affection was showered down on him. Despite this, Hux had never been called by his first name- that he could remember - in fact, he was beginning to doubt that he had ever even had one. 

Now, now he was more than any of these whispers could ever weave together. The people who spoke them fell so low beneath him that his mouth would twitch as he walked past. They were the sad ones, the underlings. He may not have been the most physically challenging, but his mentality more than made up for that.

There was a certain feeling of confidence that would swirl around him in the lonesome safety of his own room. A sharp spike of belief, hope, determination that would run hot through his veins as he poured over hundreds of weathered books and datapads, the faint blue glow of the holographic images the only thing lighting up his room in the dead of night.

He was 16 when his father recognized his achievements. To him, it was quite the momentous occasion. The man seemed far from family, more of a legend or a story passed down than an actual man. His voice was deep, smooth, undeniably strict, a sound that demanded and received attention. Nearing the end of the first 16 turns of his life, that booming voice filled a small metallic room.

It was his name. In the middle of a lecture on field tactics, the image of the past rebel bases ordered in well devised connection glowing down on them from the bright screen. The voice was undeniable. A dozen pairs of eyes shot invisible daggers into his skin as he gracefully stood. His blood was running cold, footsteps suddenly deafeningly loud in the empty hallway.

The large metal door loomed ominously above him, his boots filled with lead. Hux was not easily frightened. He did not back down. He was strong willed, fit with unparalleled determination and drive. But as his father, no, Commandant Hux opened the door he felt his body instinctively stiffen.

“Come in Hux.” No kind of title, not even a strict, “recruit”, before his name. There was some reasoning behind that, he was sure, but his mind was stuck unhelpfully on a useless repeat, stiffly and methodically following each of the man’s instructions until he stood before a large brown desk.

The commandant was well loved. A generally charismatic, charming, amiable man, that everyone couldn’t help but like. But Hux had found that with each step closer he took the man’s smile slowly fell to something unreadable. A controlled mask, devoid of emotion. The accolades which spilled from his lips like a sweet stream of water sputtered out in his presence.

“Do you know why I’ve called you here?”

Cold. The room was terribly cold, and the academy’s fitted uniform did nothing to insulate his fair skin. The air around him clung to the clothing, sinking into his flesh and seeping into his bones. It was very rare for his father to call him to an audience at school.

It was rooted in him to remain still, not to shake his head or admit that he did not know. So, at the risk of failure and possibly beratement, he shot out a viable answer.

“My excelled performance intellectually, sir.” 

“Precisely.”

But why? He’d been at the top of his class, the top of the academy really, for almost two years now.

“Do you know of the elite cadets here at the school?” His father was a larger man. Broad shoulders, tall, narrow hips, bright red hair cropped up short above his ears. Hux fell in his shadow as the man circled around the desk, gracefully falling to the elegant throne that sat behind the starkly contrasted pain wood directly in front of him. “It is alright if you don’t. As a secret society I’d be rather suspicious if you did know.”

He kept his mouth shut, lips pressed together as he focused on shifting his face to convey a mirror of his father's carefully practiced features. A secret society, that wasn’t something he would put past the Order to contrive. In fact, it was rather expected.

“You are aware of my vision, yes?”

How could he not be. Hux had been grown on the very words that fell from his father's lips. Like water to the plants that littered the evergreen planet of Endor, such words and ideas were the basis of Hux’s education, growth, and childhood.

His father was not particularly fond of clones, he admired their abilities and was intrigued and influenced by the fact that they had been trained and weathered since birth, but due to their genetic makeup they were susceptible to separatist biological agents and pathogens. Brendol Hux didn’t take well to vulnerability.

“Yes sir.”

“Very good.” The man took in a long breath, his eyes seared into Hux’s form, as though he were able to read his thoughts, to lay the boy completely bare with no means of shelter. “I’ve contrived a program in favour of making my vision a reality. The Commandant’s Cadets is the collection of the elite cadets, only the best, most driven, and fiercely loyal are hand picked to take part in the program. Based on your tactical and intellectual excellence I believe that it is time you were offered the invitation to join.”

At that the freezing cold seeping into his body pulled him into a state of numbness. He was offered the chance of being the elite, rising as a new star to the position that he deserved. He would be able to exercise his abilities, to take what he deserved.

“I would be honoured sir.”

“I thought so. Consider the invitation yours, the acceptance is up to you.”

Hux blinked a few times, unconsciously shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Had he not just voiced his acceptance? 

For a moment he could have sworn that his father’s lips had twitched, as though ready to turn up into the haunting ghost of a smile he had worn when Hux was at a younger age. 

“In order to be accepted, you must pass the induction test. However, I doubt you will be able to.”

There was a sharp pain in his chest, and the redhead’s stomach fell to the soles of his feet.

“I’ve hand picked each cadet, though you are the weakest of them all. Intellectually you top the ranks of the entire academy, but physically you are sorely lacking.”

It was a knee jerk reaction, speaking out. It was unprofessional, immature, and decisively idiotic. “I’ll do anything, sir!”

His desperation was appalling even to him.

The commandant let out a short hum, the sound reverberating through his chest. “You will kill another recruit, and stage it as an accident.”

If he hadn’t already been rooted to the spot, his whole body would have frozen. He felt the cold wash over him as though encasing him in yet another layer of ice. His chest followed his stomach to his feet.

“If you are caught, I will not bail you out, and you will pay for your inability.” Icy blue eyes bore into him as though they could break through the rapidly thickening layers of ice forming over his fair skin. “You are dismissed.”

The room slowly disappeared behind him as his feet moved on autopilot, for this he was grateful. His strict training allowed his body control when his mind was racing, carrying him to his next class. He didn’t hear a word.

There was a sour taste in his mouth, and his tongue seemed to swell up and dry. The day dragged on, and by the time he had made it back to his room half a day of classes had passed and he hadn’t even seen the words right in front of his face. Hux was unable to think of anything but his father’s words as they bounced around in his head, violently hitting the sides of his skull and creating a deep ache.

Meals were disregarded as he fell back onto the imperial grade mattress, the plush  pad sinking with his weight. Blue eyes searched the ceiling, as though the ornately painted surface could offer him the answers to the universe.

Killing another recruit without getting caught. Killing in general. He knew that the day would come, had been thinking about it since he was a little boy. Hux had been born and raised on the tales of Imperial valor and victory. The battles of his past becoming the stories which he fell asleep to.

The silken burgundy sheet that he had acquired as a present from one of his father’s acquaintances was now draped around his shoulders like an elegant robe. It fell in shining creases over his body, swallowing up his form in a tent of opulence. As he lifted his hands, the fabric fell over them in movements as flowing as liquid, and under the faint natural light which was slowly dimming as day gave way to night, his hands were covered in blood.

The phantom scent of copper and the bitter juxtaposition of something salty and sweet hung heavily in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

His lithe body pushed against the smooth sheets, boxers blending into the fabric to coat freckle dusted skin in a rich colour, warm enough to simulate a lived-in feeling in his otherwise crisp and immaculate room.

The Academy's uniform was easy to slip on. Stretchy material clinging to his skin and hugging each intricate curve that it could. Thin fingers pushed back through fiery hair, slick with a clear gelatinous substance that clung to each strand, adhering them together in a neat and professional style. The glass in front of him reflected an image of his father. Younger, shorter, with rounder and softer edges, but his father none-the-less. Eyes blank, mind an intricate whir of plans and calculations, each neatly organized.

His footsteps were light, efficient, but their sound still echoed in his ears. The slap of rubber soles against tile, granite, stone, metal, methodically ringing like the infernal ticking of his father's old master clock.

Each lecture felt an hour too long, every piece of information slipping over mostly foreign tongues something that he had already learned from himself. This simply gave him more time to think. Time that he didn’t want.

Hux was calm. Intensely, incredibly, eerily, calm. He had played everything out in his mind over a hundred times. If there was anything that could go wrong he had thought of it, planned for it. If there was any chance of getting caught, he had formulated a plan to solidify his innocence.

The warm light from a large orange sun slowly faded into a faint glow, colors dancing over any and every surface it could. In the large, empty room the sound of sparring was the only noise, echoing as each sound hit the walls. Most of the kids at the academy were extremely skilled in combat, fast, intentional, and strong.

Hux was the smallest of the group, though the fact didn’t deter him it did make him a clear target. However, many of his peers would find that this fact was to his advantage. The redhead was a master of strategy, not falling short in any field. Top marks littered every update that appeared in his father’s holo, that would not change. If anything Hux was resolutely determined.

Fluid movements warred against each other, pale, freckled skin connected with a darker tan in jarring impact. His sparring partner was one of the best in the academy, hand-to-hand combat the field in which the girl excelled. Thick muscles were readily on show, pronounced in intimidating humps attached to forearms, shoulders, legs. He was at a clear disadvantage, purple-blue pools of blood already forming beneath his skin.

For now he let the thought of becoming one of the commandants cadets become faded, dropping to the back of his mind as he worked to strike back, to hold his ground against one of the best in the class. 

But Hux was not one to let marks slip. While hand to hand combat was most definitely not one of his best suits, this weighed in very little when it came to his overall performance and the mark which would appear on his transcript.

The girls fists came in again and again, not above distraction to use her legs, feet, arms, shoulders, elbows, anything to get him off-kilter and closer to falling to defeat. This would not happen. His eyes pinched closed as a particularly painful blow landed on his shoulder, pulling in a cool breath of air before launching his plan of attack. Since the beginning of the battle he had been sizing the girl up, letting her land blows to see where she would hit and how hard, analyzing her strengths and weaknesses. Time seemed to slow as a crystalline blue was unveiled, eyes hardening with intense focus as he lunged forward in the slight moments between her attacks. The heel of his palm found its way up under her chin, pressing staggeringly into her neck, and forcing out a wet choking sound. She stumbled back and he used that moment to garner power to a roundhouse kick he delivered just below her ribs. Any higher and he had and improbable chance of striking at the same time her heart beat, killing her nearly instantly. This position ensured pain, breathlessness, and enough force to send her tumbling back onto her butt.

A heavy breath forced it’s way from his chest, as though what would have been panting had caught in his throat until that moment. Another girl, tall, blonde, and unfortunately strong as she clapped her hand on his shoulder, came up to his side.

“Way to fight kitten.” Brilliant white teeth flashed at him as he turned narrowed eyes to her face.

“Do not call me that.”

Her large hand slid up to tousle his hair, prompting him to jerk away, lip turned up in disgust as he worked to tame it once again. Hux’s feet calmly and evenly carried him away. Many of his peers would belittle him, teasing, laughing, pushing him around. However, Phasma was a bit different in this respect. For some reason she had taken some sort of liking to him, treating him in a more amicable and loving way. This was not something he recepted well around others, though, much to his dismay, he found himself relenting to her behavior in private.

Behind him her rather deep laugh rang out. Phasma was popular, all big smiles, strong body, and friendly but determined manner. Hux shook his head, already spar mused hair falling into near complete disarray. Popularity could only get one so far. It was often the downfall of many. Perhaps it was simply his upbringing which lead him to believe that it is better to be feared than loved, it had proven successful for other leaders. The leaders which he poured over, thousands of words turning in his head.

As the door slid closed behind him, the mechanical whir echoing through the empty hall, his shoulders rose nearly to his ears. He saw red. Dark hot red. Pale hands fisted at his sides, pressing in against primly pressed pants. A soft toll rang out, making his steps stagger before resolutely pressing on. There was a buildup of noise, the controlled chaos of a steady flow of cadets into the halls, moving towards the mess hall for their lunch break. He slipped easily into the crowd before disappearing around a corner.

It would be only a moment before the hallways fell once again into stark order, and Hux could hardly feel at the thought of what he would do once his feet would solemnly echo through the halls, alone again in their empty sound.

There would be a boy, a year his senior. His feet carried him confidently away, purposeful strides making every step quieter than before, a ghost among living walls. Visual sensors captured his movement, in this hyper-aware state Hux could just hear their faint hum. It was suffocating him, getting in his head. However, the dull sound grew weaker the further he walked, fading out behind him as he approached an entrance to the first terrace of the wing. 

The boy, blonde and well built, curved over a high desk, the rich brown offsetting platinum blonde. Hux stepped coolly into the doorway, and his mind went calm, warmth washing over him in a soothing wave. When the boy turned, readying himself for lunch, he slid rather violently off of his seat.

“H-Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.” The corner of the blonde’s mouth twitched slightly as he calmed down into an easy stance. “Do you need something cadet...?”

“Hux.”

If the boy was taken aback, he didn’t show it. When -though it happened very rarely- people did not know whose son he was, they were often surprised to find that such a slight figure, gentle curves, and clear complexion, were what was to hold up the Hux name. But, once they had seen them, there was very little denying his likeness.

“Arenton.”

Hux nodded curtly, letting his lips curve up into an easy smile. Hux did not smile often.

“I was told that you were rather adept in distancing and trajectory angles?”

Cadet Arenton’s shoulders rolled back, chest puffing out slightly at the compliment. “I’d fancy myself so. You need help kid?”

Hux inwardly grimaced at being called a kid, Arenton most likely didn’t notice that he was only a year the boy’s junior. However, on the outside he simply sweetened his smile, adding in a naive nod for an extra hint of innocence. It would probably be to his advantage that the boy thought him younger.

“I’m working on a system of equations of a class, and I’m trying to figure trajectory angles from the rooftop on the first wing.”

“Oh, ambitious. I like it.” The cadet turned to grab his holopad off of the table. “Lead the way.”

Cadet Carden Arenton. 

Their footsteps echoed in tandem through the eerily empty halls. The myriad of cadets usually present now stating the hunger coming with post-physical training.

The boy was nearly 18. He excelled in mathematics and the physical sciences, shying away from leadership in tactile exercises despite his greater aptitude for strategy. However, he wasn’t very popular. No, originally from Mirial, his skin was a faded green, as though ink had been spilled on his body and only a small portion washed mercifully away. He walked with a swagger that spoke measures of his personality, but his dipped head gave away who he really was.

Hux knew everything about this boy, what he ate, where he slept, when and where he was born. Any detail that the academy had procured on the cadet, Hux had skilfully unearthed, leaving behind no trace of his actions.

“So, what could a cute thing like you be looking at trajectory angles for?”

The word “cute” hit him like dura-steel, making his eyes snap up to the back of the boy’s head. Slivers of dark green tattoos peaked out from his collar, reaching up towards the platinum blond cut pristinely out of the way. However, reacting audibly would surely sour the good mood the boy seemed to be in. Hux took in a deep breath.

“Well, historically speaking, the walkers accompanying AT-AT’s on transport missions were roughly as tall as the platform of the first wing. Therefore, I should be able to specify, or at least hypothesize, the trajectory of different firearms from that spot.”

It was a good cover story. One that he had, in fact, tested on his own just the year before. It was incredibly successful, and earned him full marks in his class- not that he had expected anything less. Cadet Arenton hung back a bit until he was able to sling an arm over Hux’s shoulders. 

His teeth sunk down into the tip of his tongue as he fought back a physical reaction to the contact. The boy was shamelessly flirting with him, that much was evident. Hux doubted that the situation would at all change if he brought up the fact that the Commandant, in fact, had a son and not a daughter, or anything in between those two. Pink lips remained pressed together as Carden pulled their sides closer together- he had to suppress another shiver. This was more than enough physical contact for the rest of this turn.

“How old are you?”

Ugh. He had to remind himself not to gag.

“16.”

“Ah, you’ll be getting stripes soon?”

_ I already have them you disgusting buffoon. _ He wouldn’t say that outloud, it might disrupt his careful plan, so he simply nodded.

The boy tugged at the shoulder of his uniform, giving it unsightly lines. “You’ll look good with ‘em.”

With good luck they’d arrive at the first wing platform before he was physically sick.

“Thank you.” He gritted out as sweetly as he could, given the circumstances.

Arenton stepped forward to punch in the door code and Hux heaved a silent sigh of relief at the loss of contact. Suddenly it was as though fate had decided to be unprecedentedly kind to him. He did not like this boy, which would, in turn, make his task even easier than he had been convincing himself that it was going to be.

The blonde was drawing confidence from his presence, feeding off of his existence. In a normal circumstance such behavior would warrant either Hux’s own departure, or a subtle rebuking enough to separate the two cadets. His lips twitched, this was actually good for this circumstance.

Having a...for lack of a better word “victim”, that fed off of his very presence was something that would undoubtedly work in his favor, and much to his chagrin, he would have to work to. As he stepped through the door he let his eyes close for just a moment. No matter the feeling of humiliation it was a tactic which even the academy valued. He schooled his face, and surged forward, grasping Arenton's hand in one of his own and clinging childishly to his side as the neared the railing.

“I-I didn’t realise it was so high up!”

The boy laughed, and Hux was unsurprised by the sick that rose to the back of his mouth. The hand in his own squeezed before pulling away to secure tightly around his middle, pulling him in towards cadet Arenton’s chest.

Dear Maker, he was going to need a shower after this.

Hux steeled himself and pressed in closer, nearly gagging at the pungent scent of some sort of pheromone the boy had likely drowned himself in that morning.

“Come on, I’ve got you.” The other laughed out, gently easing them towards the railing, enough for Hux to see just past the weathered jet black to the statues in the courtyard below. 

The centrepiece high spikes raising towards the sky, bracketed by the founders, their eyes cast down on the walkways, as though looking upon the young cadets in a disapproving manner. He closed his eyes for the moment, a wisp of air gently caressing his cheek as his insides twisted sharply. Regardless, his resolve hardened, and there was only so much time.

One, two-

The redhead turned quickly, releasing himself from the discomforting grip of the other and stepping heavily on the heels of the cadet’s regulating, shining boots. Small, clean hands landed on sharp shoulder blades, heaved back, then forward, and there was a scream that pierced the cool air of Arkanis. 

He felt socked feed slip away from their leather saftey, and watched as a soul fell heavily. A squelching noise the last audible ring of betrayal. He felt...he felt nothing.

Arenton’s body hung limply around the spike piercing the centre of his body. Blood spewed, dripped and pooled, and Hux had to shake himself to tear his eyes away.

With the shoes here by the rail, it would look like a suicide, not an uncommon happenstance for a weak and struggling cadet. Hux stepped back once, twice, the footfall a loud resonance in the all too empty space. Everything worked perfectly, cleanly. And it was time for him to disappear.


End file.
